


You Lost Boys

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Dom/sub Undertones, Endverse!Cas, Knotting, Love/Hate, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the nerdy omegas at their school, Dean's teammates just had to choose Castiel Milton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> I am ashamed of myself. Um, slight sub Cas, but he's also a bit snarky because endverse is all I will ever need. Also possessive Dean. And the Anna/Jo thing isn't major, it's just one scene because apparently I wrote this to satisfy all my weird desires. I'm gonna go hide now.

Sometimes, Dean Winchester really wishes his school had a better football team. 

Yeah, it’s a stupid wish, but Dean has a theory about football teams. Sure, twenty alphas wearing what seem to him to be essentially tights (don’t deny it) and shoving at each other all day in the middle of a field sounds like anyone’s nightmare, but at least an asshole football team could be predictable. They’d travel in packs, letterman jackets making them easy to spot in the hallways. And every time they knocked some poor omega’s books out of his hands, or shoved a beta into the lockers, they’d at least have to be careful about it, because Coach Singer is a hardass with an omega rights bumper sticker. 

But no, at Dean’s high school the coach is the only one worth talking about on the football team--the rest of the guys mostly spend their time skipping keggers to work on their homework and complaining about how they haven’t won anything in over half a decade. 

At Dean’s high school, it’s the baseball team that are the assholes, the baseball team that shove omegas’ heads into toilets and write fake love notes to Becky Rosen (although that plan backfired pretty quickly, because no matter how much Becky may come off as a girl willing to take anyone’s shit she really isn’t). It’s the baseball team that are actually almost literally coached by Satan (it’s been a running joke that Coach Luke actually stands for Lucifer), who lets them get away with just about anything. And it’s the baseball team who has somehow unanimously decided to make sweet, pretty Castiel Milton’s life a living hell.

The worst part of all of this? Dean’s their star pitcher.

Over the past two years, he’s come up with a method for surviving his teammates’--laugh when they do, ignore the gay slurs, and only go to one of their parties every other week. And, above all, don’t pick fights. 

This is fairly easy most of the time, because for all their bravado, Uriel, Zachariah, and the rest of their cronies are actually surprisingly bad at choosing victims who won’t fight back. Either that, or just about every girl at their school is a badass (and most days, Dean’s sort of willing to go with the latter). There was Ruby, who Raphael claims still has his naked pictures, and Jess, who for all her sweet demeanor still had it in her to torch Zach’s car. And then there are Dean’s personal favorites, Anna and Jo, who, after suffering a week of “dyke” jokes showed the entire team exactly how closely they’d paid attention to Fight Club (in other words, Dean was never eating the cafeteria food ever again).

But for some reason, this week’s victim of choice is Castiel Milton. Castiel Milton, who sits two seats behind Dean in Calculus, who raises his hand three times every lesson, never four. Castiel Milton, with his stupid corduroy pants and blue sweater vests, not to mention that damn blush that always starts at his neck and creeps all the way up to his ears. Castiel Milton, who is such a fucking omega it hurts. 

(In other words, Castiel Milton, whose name always seems to be on Dean’s lips when he’s jerking off in the shower.)

(Shut up.)

Right now Zachariah is actually giggling as he watches Michael grab Castiel by the collar, shoving him up against the cracked bathroom tiles.

“You having a good time, faggot?” Michael growls, the grin eating away at his mouth.

“Well, to paraphrase a friend, I’ve had a good time, this just isn’t it,” Castiel replies, because goddammit, of course the kid has a mouth on him.

Michael doesn’t respond to this (Dean doesn’t think he has the brainpower), just keeps going. “This is probably the closest an alpha’s ever gotten to your fucking hole, isn’t it? Hell, I bet you’re enjoying this, you omega shit.”

Castiel frowns, pretending to consider, even though the skin of his throat is a light red under the other boy’s fingers. “Actually, out of the two of us, you seem to be the pleased one, so maybe you should reconsider--” He’s cut off by a punch to the face, one that leaves a little trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Dean feels sick. “Michael,” he says, voice too rough, “maybe you could back the fuck off? Bell’s gonna ring in a couple seconds, anyway….”

“Getting too PG-13 for you, Winchester?” one of the other boys laughs, and Dean feels his hands clench into fists but doesn’t say anything.

No, he’s too busy focusing on Cas, who’s looking over at him with what appears to be a mild interest. “That’s sweet of you, Dean, but really, I’ve handled other students’ sexual crises before and your teammate here appears to be a textbook case--” another punch, Castiel’s head smacking the tile behind him with a noise that makes Dean flinch. Why the hell isn’t the goddamn bell ringing? Lunch has to have been over at least three minutes ago….

Don’t pick fights, Dean reminds himself, but it’s too late, he can already feel the hormones shooting to his brain, and mostly it’s just the usual alpha stupidity, years of pent-up frustration spilling into this one fight. but there’s also, Dean’s surprised to discover, a rather large amount of possessiveness there too, the words Cas and mine bouncing around his head. 

 

All of this is why he spins Michael around, his team captain going limp with shock, and punches him in the face.

It’s not the greatest he’s ever done in the fight. By the time Coach Singer storms in to break it up Dean’s aching all over, fully aware that by tomorrow he’ll have a black eye, not to mention several other cuts and sore spots. 

As far as he can tell, the second the fight broke out Castiel had gotten out of there. The next time they see each other, Dean is on his way over to Principal Moseley’s office, ready to serve his second detention. Castiel doesn't even look at him, just stares at the filthy hallway floor like it's the most interesting thing in the goddamn planet. Which is completely fine.

(Because it definitely wasn’t like Dean had expected a “thank you” or anything--not like his latest shower fantasy had been Castiel cornering him somewhere and mumbling gratitude into his mouth, his fingers already working towards Dean’s belt buckle.)

So he doesn’t feel like a complete idiot when the next day in Calculus he turns around, grateful that Chuck is such a fuck-up and the only thing in between him and Cas is an empty desk, and asks “Hey, you okay?”

Castiel barely glances at him, apparently too focused on reorganizing his pencil case, for fuck’s sake. “Perfectly fine.”

“Yeah?” Dean bites his lip, wanting to say more but knowing he’s already made a fool out of himself. “Well, if those guys keep bothering you, you just...um, you tell me, okay? And I-i’ll take care of it.”

“I was handling it.”

It’s like that comment, said in such an offhand way as Cas carefully separates his black and blue ink pens, snaps something inside of Dean, because suddenly all he wants to do is make Cas pay attention, knock that stupid pencil case off his desk and shove his mouth up against the skin of the other boy’s throat, tracing the word mine into Castiel’s neck so that nobody, not even Michael, would try to touch him ever again. 

Instead he just snaps “Handling it?” in disbelief, but even that is cut off by the sound of the bell and the teacher calling the class to attention, forcing him to turn back around and focus on the board. Fifteen minutes later Chuck stumbles in, waving his “excused tardiness” note in the teacher’s face before returning to his seat, so that Cas feels twice as distant as he was before.

(Dean’s fantasies that night involve bending Cas over his stupid desk, pencil case and all, and fucking him so hard that whatever little list of one-liners the omega must keep in the back of his head shatters.)

After what Dean finds himself calling “The Pencil Case Fiasco,” he pretty much takes the hint, stays away from Cas as much as he can. Obviously the omega doesn’t need Dean’s help, probably thinks he’s just another asshole alpha, no better than his teammates. 

But of course this resolve breaks the second he sees Cas walking home from school, using his jacket to prevent his textbooks from getting ruined in the rain.

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, because Cas’s hair is sticking to his forehead, making him resemble a drowned cat, and Dean’s a sucker for these sort of things.

“No,” Castiel replies, not even looking at him again, just continuing to walk, his shoes squelching against the mud.

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Cas, it wouldn’t kill you to--”

At this, the other boy does stop, Dean notices with a sudden burst of hope, but it is only to scowl and repeat “Cas?”

Fuck, he’s in for it now. “It’s just a nickname--”

“Friends,” Cas hisses, angrily brushing his wet hair off his face, “give each other nicknames. You, Dean Winchester, are an absolute asshole, and, as a matter of fact, tend to travel with a pack of other absolute assholes, thus making you not my friend.” At this he begins walking again, only this time faster, like he thinks he’s going to outrun a car or something, for christ’s sake.

So Dean rolls up the window and starts driving again. 

(And when he gets home if he spends at least a small portion of his time jerking off to all the things he could’ve done to Cas right then, well, that’s his fucking business. Although he most definitely did not pop a fucking knot doing it, something that hadn’t happened since middle school.)

(But, god, if he’d just grown some damn balls and stepped out of the car, gotten Cas all pushed up against the Impala, his eyes staring at Dean’s mouth with a slightly glazed expression, well, then….)

Of course, the second Jo notices him staring longingly at Castiel from across the cafeteria she fucking goes to town, cracking so many jokes about his “sweater vest kink” that by the end of the period, he wants to scream.

“‘S’not like that, I swear,” he says, already bright red with embarrassment, while Jo cackles.

“Really, Winchester? You sure you don’t want a big slice of that omega pie?”

“Is that all you guys talk about?” Dean hears, and then thank god Anna’s there, smiling lightly as she sets her tray beside her girlfriend’s and giving Jo a kiss. 

“Pie or sex?” Dean asks, and gets a dirty look in return. Sure, sometimes the guys on the team give him shit for hanging out with the “lesbos,” but for the most part, he just gives them all the finger and figures he’s earned a little rebellion.

“Dean-o here’s got a crush on sweet little Castiel Milton. Hey, didn’t you guys both go to that camp over the summer when you were kids?”

Anna bites her lip, considering. “Yeah, he was there. We served on the same team for Capture the Flag. Nice guy, although a bit too competitive. We sorta stuck together for a bit there, what with him being an omega and me sneaking off to make out with Ruby Cassidy.” When Jo tenses at the mention of the other girl’s name, Anna reaches out and puts a hand on her thigh, automatically soothing. 

“Right, your rebellious phase. Anyway, your girlfriend must be on something, because I don’t like Castiel, okay?” Dean says, quick to change the subject. No matter how happy he was when his two friends got over their own stupidity and realized they both liked each other, he still really doesn’t need to see Jo get all goddam possessive in the middle of the cafeteria. 

“He was always very kind to me,” Anna continues, getting that look on her face where she knows whatever she’s doing is pushing Dean’s buttons. “If you ever decided to stop being so ridiculous around him, which is probably what you’re currently doing, I’m sure he’d like you.”

As if he wasn’t blushing enough. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, and both the girls laugh.

Great friends Dean has, really. 

The next time Dean sees Cas is outside of Calculus the following morning. Of course the teacher is late, and of course the two of them are the first ones to arrive that morning, left standing outside the door awkwardly.

“So,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking masochist.

“I’d prefer we not talk.” Somehow, Cas sounds different today. Strained, almost.

“Really, Castiel?” Dean’s careful to use his full name.

“Just shut up, okay? I’m up to my ears in you baseball douchebags, and frankly, I’m sick of it.” 

“Look, I’m not like them. Seriously, that was just--” but before Dean can even try to redeem himself Chuck decides this is the one day he’s going to be fucking early, appearing between the two of them with a slurred “‘Lo,” effectively ending the conversation.

Dean stews for the entire period, but before he can even try to talk to Cas after class the omega is gone, having practically sprinted out of his seat at the bell.

By the next day, Dean still hasn’t had a chance to talk to Cas, so when he turns around in the middle of Calculus to find the seat behind Chuck empty, he feels like screaming. The second school gets out Dean has to keep himself from outright running to the Impala, preceding to his car at as leisurely a pace as possible.

It’s a small town, so of course he knows that Cas lives right across the street from Anna, has since they all were kids and still playing in their respective front yards. He’s halfway there before he realizes that his hands are shaking slightly against the wheel, whether with anger or nerves he isn’t sure.

There aren’t any cars in the driveway, but when he knocks Castiel answers the door, looking slightly...off. Dean pretends he doesn’t notice, what he’s been wanting to say for weeks rushing out of him.

“Look, Castiel, I’m not a bad guy, okay? Michael and Uriel and all those assholes, they’re the bad guys. I mean, I’ve done that before, trying to stop things before they get out of hand, although you’re the first time I, um, resorted to--” 

It’s then that the smell hits him, practically fills him up, twisting something low in his gut. And the omega is just standing there, biting his stupid chapped lips and looking like this is his own personal hell.

“Cas,” Dean says carefully, already so dizzy with the scent that he forgets the no-nicknames rule, “are you in heat?’’ And at first the other boy shakes his head, trying to deny it, but the Dean asks again. 

The “yeah” that slips out of Cas is so small Dean almost thinks he imagined it.

“What about your pills?”

There’s that signature blush, starting at Cas’s neck and spreading to his ears. “H-had to stop taking them. Was getting too pent-up.”

“Pent-up with what?” And Dean can’t help it, he just has to lean closer, soak up as much of that delicious smell as possible. Christ, he’s smelled omegas in heat before, but never like this. 

It’s then that Castiel looks back up at him, something like determination in his eyes. “You’re on the baseball team,” he says, not even stuttering. “Even if you never participated in the bullying, you just stood by and watched, for all I know you could be the one behind it all, like the world’s dumbest mastermind….” He keeps babbling, but Dean’s brain is stuck in a loop, dumbfounded by the fact that, when asked what could possibly make him stop taking his suppressants, Cas had chosen to talk about him.

“All this--the refusing to say thank you and the nasty comments and all that shit--that was because you, what, liked me?”

Castiel just blinks at him for a moment, before returning to his previous rant, sounding considerably more rattled. “A-and you had to act so, um, s-so cliched, st--” Dean steps closer and his voice cracks, “stereotypical alpha defending his damsel-in-distress, p-punching Michael and then o-offering me a ride, and I. D-don’t. Like. You.” 

Except he stutters on the “don’t,” and that smell is really too fucking much, so Dean just presses even closer, mumbles “I hope you’re home alone,” and kisses him.

Considering the omega’s previous behavior, Dean almost expects to be pushed away. But the second their mouths meet Cas comes alive, kissing Dean back with the sort of ferocity he usually seems to reserve for midterms and pop quizzes. 

And Dean is happily complying, only disconnecting their mouths to make sure the door is shut behind them. That’s enough time for Cas to pull away from him though, suddenly angry.

“I don’t even like you.”

But unlike all the other insults, this time Dean’s still got the taste of Cas in his mouth so this time he just grins and says “You can tell me to fuck off whenever you want, babe.”

And apparently Cas does like pet names, because they’re kissing again, even harder than before, Dean quickly discovering that all he has to do to make Cas groan is suck the omega’s bottom lip into his mouth, and before he can stop himself he adds a bit of teeth to that too, only to find that that makes Cas even noisier.

The second he manages to detach himself from Cas, Dean vows, he’s going to find every single suppressant in the goddam world and toss ‘em out the window, because he needs Cas like this, so warm and willing against him, better than any of his fantasies. And did he mention the smell? Because all it’s done since they’ve started touching has gotten stronger, and it’s driving him insane.

“My room’s the first on the left,” Cas says the second Dean starts sucking a hickey onto his neck, and for some reason the fact that that’s the most civil exchange they’ve ever had is even more of a turn on. They’re sort of stumbling over in that direction when finally Dean just grabs Cas and shoves him into the room, barely taking the time to notice anything besides the bed, messy and not nearly as inviting as he’d like, and the fact that Cas is not currently spread out for him on top of it.

The second part’s pretty easy to fix, though.

While Dean’s pulling Cas’s fucking sweater vest over his head the omega has started talking again, this time much more desperate. “Fuck’s sake, Dean, I need you, need you inside me right this fucking instant, have ever since you punched that asshole in the face, Dean,” and then Dean’s ripping off the buttons of his shirt, impatient, and then it’s just what feels like miles and miles of Cas’s skin, more and more places for Dean to mark as his.

“You’re mine, Cas, all right?” he says as he licks his way up the omega’s stomach. “Bet I’m the first one to see you like this, huh? You don’t know how crazy you’ve been driving me, all this time, thinkin’ about you like this, naked and perfect and mine--”

He undoes the buttons of Cas’s fly, pulling them down to his knees, only to discover that Cas is soaking wet for him, a stain spreading across his boxers.

“N-need you,” Cas stutters, “Dean, please…”

“Babe, you can’t expect me to not take my time with you like this, can you?” God, he can hardly think straight, seeing Cas like this. Dean kisses the sharp lines of Cas’s hipbones as he pulls the underwear down, grinning at the sight of Cas’s cock, pre-come already leaking out of the tip.

The little gasp Cas makes when Dean edges a finger into his hole is better than any porn could possibly be. Dean grins, kissing Cas sloppily on the forehead before moving his finger carefully, only crooking it ever so slightly.

Cas actually moans this time. “St-ill hate you,” he mumbles, his mouth against Dean’s t-shirt. “Not fair, anyway, you’re not--fuckfuckfuck--naked.”

“You want me to take my finger out so I can undress for you, babe? ‘Cuz I promise, I’ll give you a show--be as slow as possible….”

But Cas is already shoving Dean’s t-shirt up to his armpits, raking a hand down his chest before Dean hears the zipper of his fly being pulled down, his cock springing free. “Put another one in,” Cas begs, bringing their mouths together again.

“Whatever you say, Cas,” Dean says, and fuck if this isn’t the absolute best feeling in the world. “Christ, have you even touched yourself?” Because even with two fingers in Cas is tight, squirming against Dean, eyelashes fluttering when the alpha finds his prostate. 

Even now Cas still has it in him to sound annoyed. “W-was waiting for you to realize how stupid we were b-being.” 

And Dean can’t even think of a response, shoving Cas’s mouth against his own, the kiss deep and biting. That’s when he realizes he needs Cas right fucking now, screw the prep work. Another crook of his fingers and then he’s sliding out, the omega whining in protest when Dean leans down to kick of his jeans completely, doing the same for Cas before pulling his t-shirt over his head. 

When Dean’s cock nudges the rim of Cas’s hole he figures he must be going soft, because he practically sees stars. The omega is still dripping, all open and wet for him, so fucking perfect. He takes a second then to just look at Cas, pupils so dilated his eyes are more black then blue, hair twice as messy as usual, biting his lip against the pain. “Dean, you n-need to move,” he whispers. 

And wow, Dean’s more of an asshole than he thought, possibly worthy of his spot on the baseball team, because all he does is smile and say “Ask me nicely.”

“P-please,” he hears, and for all his talk Dean complies, Cas quickly stuttering out thanks. 

It doesn’t take long for both of them to come--Cas is grabbing his hair, still making those little noises, when suddenly his eyes go wide, and Dean is quick to follow. For a second he considers trying to pull out, but already his knot has them glued together, making sure Cas gets every inch of his come. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, Cas’s fingers still tangled together in Dean’s hair, their mouths pressed together. It’s not really kissing at this point, just them breathing into each other, Dean’s nose still full of Cas’s scent, still enough to make him dizzy. His orgasm’s made Cas loose-limbed, stretching his neck lazily so that Dean can suck on it, taking a moment to grin at all the other marks he’s left. 

“No more pills,” he mumbles into the omega, his omega’s skin. “And no more acting like you hate me, all right?”

“Fuck you,” is all he gets for an answer. “Oh, wait, you’re gonna say ‘We just did,’ or something asshole-ish to that, never mind.” 

Dean laughs--he probably was about to say something along those lines. But then he presses a careful kiss of apology right underneath Cas’s ear and whispers “We should go on a date, you and me.”

At first he thinks his offer is going to be refused, Cas taking what feels like ages to consider, worrying his lip between his teeth like he and Dean aren’t still knotted. “What about your lovely teammates?”

“Fuck my lovely teammates.” But the second Dean says this that smell suddenly strengthens, and he looks down to see Cas hardening again, still on his knot. “You wanna go again, babe? I mean, how many hours we got ‘til this thing is done with?”

Cas sighs, like it’s the most frustrating thing on the planet. “Four.”Already, Dean’s fingers are wrapping around the shaft of the omega’s cock, and he only looks up to grin.

“Good.”


End file.
